


Name Day Wish

by Spencebox



Series: Name Day Wish 2021 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya is not that nice sometimes, Birthday Cake, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Bottom Sansa Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark Bashing, Cunnilingus, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jon Snow Knows Something, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Nipple Licking, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sandor, Possessive Sex, Sandor Loves Sansa, Sansa loves Sandor, Size Difference, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Sandor Clegane, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Ya'll this is just sweet sex, when to shut the fuck up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencebox/pseuds/Spencebox
Summary: Sansa only had one name day wish, and that was to lay in bed all day and be pampered like a queen by her fiancee Sandor. But when you were a Stark, it meant you had to deal with the obtrusive Stark family, including the always disapproving Catelyn and the terribly annoying Arya. Gendry was the only tolerable one, and he wasn't even a Stark.Why couldn't she just have this one day to get her brains fucked out and nothing else?Well, she may get half her wish to come true.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: Name Day Wish 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118351
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	Name Day Wish

**Author's Note:**

> My 23rd birthday is in two days! And I wanted a birthday themed thing? I guess? I'm also literally making a tri-tiered lemon cake for myself as a gift to me so like, I had enough brain power to write this AND make a big cake? Look at me, I guess.
> 
> Hope y'all like it! Wasn't supposed to be this long but I don't do like less than 2k really. Also, made this a series cause uhm, I would let Tywin Lannister! wreck! me! So after my birthday I may bust one out of him treating Sansa for her birthday.... I know, self indulgent Spencer strikes again.

If anyone asked Sansa what her least favorite day of the year was, there would always be raised brows, judgmental glances, whispers once her back was turned, and even once by Theon’s sister, Yara the word killjoy had been spat in her face. It wasn’t as though these words held no merit or truth. Killjoy was not a word that she used to describe herself, and Yara’s definition of fun was drinking rum from between the crease of a whore’s breasts. Everyone’s definition of fun was different, but that didn’t make Sansa a killjoy. 

It wasn’t her fault she hated her name day. 

No, she _loathed_ her name day. 

The dreadful day in which everyone expected everything from her in every which way, all while her Mother stared down with those deep Tully blue eyes, head shaking in disappointment. Father couldn’t give a sincere compliment if he was held at gunpoint. Arya, even now at the age of ten and nine, would insult and degrade while snickering under her breath, Gendry trying to lessen the weight of his partner’s words. Robb and Talisa were kinder than the rest, but Robb tended to not understand nor read social cues. Bringing up his wife’s oncoming birth was not appropriate during the climax of Die Hard. Bran tended to wheel himself into a corner while staring with wide eyes and Rickon playing with Shaggydog whilst ignoring the plea to not have him pee on the carpet. 

Lastly, Jon was the kindest of them all. Black curls he refused to cut, a soft smile with crinkled eyes, and an open ear to his sister whenever their Mother—who held a sour distaste at Jon and his wife Ygritte, would take in upon herself to spew a nasty insult. 

Yes, they were family, but Gods, they were dreadful. 

“Too early to worry about your family, little bird,” Under her head came the soft croon of Sandor. His oversized hand came to rest on her bare back, rubbing the warm, pale skin with ease. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

“You can’t,” she denied him. “No one is safe from my Mother.” 

Sandor snorted. He lifted his bare torso to rest against the wooden carved headboard that he’d carved himself. Birds and Wolves had been a bitch to carve by hand, but the look on his woman’s face had made it worth it. Gingerly, he lifted his fiancé up so she rested against his side, under his chin. The lemony aroma that billowed up into his nose already made him half hard. “She can try, but I’ll be ready for her. And that little shit you call sister.” 

Snuggling closer while nosing at his bare chest, she grinned. “They all mean well, even Arya. But they just come off sort of…” thinking for a moment while fingering the skin of his hard stomach, the best she came up with was, “Aggressive? Energetic?” 

“Cunt-like,” he grumbled. Sneakily, he snuck his hand under the covers and lightly groped her bare backside. And what a lovely backside it was. Deciding to throw the covers off, he gazed at his woman’s naked form. Her beauty never failed to amaze; two ripe perky tits that perfectly fit between his lips, soft pillowy hips which donned light bruising from the previous nights toss between the sheets, and his mouth began to water just thinking about her soft pink cunt. Truthfully, it deserved a medal of honor. 

“If you ever called my Mother a cunt, I think she’d have a heart attack.” Sansa ignored the hand that wiggled against her back, slithering about. Quickly changing the subject, she asked, “Do we have to get up? It’s so early.” 

Ideally, staying in bed all day while slipping between fucking and eating, he remembered his little bird’s words yesterday. “But you chirped on and on about your lemon cake, and it’s not going to bake itself. Unless of course, you’d rather tell your family to fuck off and we stay here all day.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” she begged. Seeing as it was her name day, which meant she could be a little selfish, Sansa lurched over and settled on his belly, looking down at the man she would marry in just a few months. His wide shoulders felt like stone as she rested her hands there and loomed over, sun kissed hair curtaining the two of them. His scars no longer scared her, after months of gazing at them whilst in the throes of passion. Gingerly leaning down, she lightly pecked the puckered, hard flesh that donned his face. 

“I’d suggest you get on with it, little bird.” His hands snaked to her breasts. “Else we’ll be here all day.” 

“And we can’t have that,” she said between pecks to his face, missing his lips by a hair. Hearing the groan building in his chest, she sat back on his cloth-covered cock. Rubbing against the blunt shape, she bit her lip, gazing at him. She felt so wanton like this, above the man whose heart she’d ensnared so keenly, so precisely. She was his, and he was hers. 

He crooned, “Little bird” while keeping his eyes on her swiveling breasts. He’d never tell how he longed to see them fat and full with milk—creamy, thick, sweet milk that would fill their babe’s belly. And her belly would swell and grow with the life they’d created, and he didn’t think he could take such joy. That an ugly fucker like himself belonged to such a goddess still astounded him. 

Sansa nearly fell from the bed when her cellphone started ferociously buzzing on their shared nightstand. Reaching over, while ignoring Sandor’s mouth as he leaned forward to suck her left nipple, she answered the phone. 

“Hello?” 

“Sansa, dear,” her Mother sang in a saccharine sweet voice, “I was beginning to think you were still in bed, even at this hour.” It was only a quarter past nine, but Sansa didn’t respond to the quip. 

“Is there something wrong? Arya said you’d all arrive tonight.” 

Vaguely, she heard Arya yell something in the background, but paid it no mind. “Yes, that was our original plan, but your sister had a spat with Gendry, so he’ll be arriving separately. He still wanted to wish you a happy name day, dear. And your Father changed the plane tickets, so we’ll be landing earlier than planned in White Harbor just past noon.” Her Mother’s words made her heart fall into the pit of her stomach, and even Sandor took note of her face, shamefully releasing her wet tit. 

“It will still take a few hours to drive in, I still don’t know why you chose to live so far from the city. It’s so isolated, Sansa.” It was so much like her Mother to still judge everything she did. “Anyway, make sure you and that… man you live with, are ready for us when we arrive. 

“His name is Sandor,” she said, looking down at said man. After all these years, her Mother still didn’t like him. “We’ll try our best to be ready.” 

“Good.” 

“Bye, Mom.” 

Sandor pulled her closer, laying her cheek on his chest while rubbing her crimson locks. “What’d the old hag want?” He’d heard every word, but wanted to hear them from her lips as well. “They’ll be here earlier than expected, and Arya pissed off Gendry again, so who knows when he’ll show up.” 

Resembling a cat, Sandor purred against her cheek, hating the crease forming above her eyes. The Starks brought stress and annoyance in their wake, except Jon, he knew when to shut the fuck up. But the rest of them couldn’t keep their big noses to themselves. “Don’t worry, little bird. They’ll be in and out of here before you know it. And then I’ll lay here and feed you that Lemon Cake you—” 

“The cake!” She was off his chest in an instant. “It has to cook and cool and I haven’t even started!” Quickly throwing on Sandor’s oversized tee and one skimpy pair of panties, she muttered, “And the buttercream!” on her way out. 

The kitchen was in disarray. It was equal to a battlefield of lemons and batter, her hands covered in small cuts from the blasted oversized cheese grater that also had to work as a lemon zester, and the floor dusted with egregious amounts of flour. Three thin perfectly lemon scented cakes had cooled near the windowsill, and the curd rested near the back of the fridge to fasten its cool time. The lemon buttercream was nearly complete, and she listened to Sandor vacuum the living and dining room. He’d called the handheld vacuum stupid, but look at him now. 

“... and five cups of powdered sugar. Who needs that much powdered sugar?” Her lip scrunched up as she sieved it into the mixing bowl, taking care to not have any join the flour brigade on the floor. A few brave scraps landed on her shoes, but she was mostly successful. 

Turning on the obnoxiously red stand mixer that had been a gift from Margaery, a flurry of white covered her front. And if things couldn’t be any worse, the doorbell rang throughout the house. 

Sandor bellowed, “I’ve got it.” And his steps thundered while she tried to think happy thoughts on her name day. This was supposed to be fun for her. _Happy thoughts,_ she repeated in her head as Gendry’s cheerful voice rang through the air, _Happy thoughts._

“Oh dear,” Gendry uttered, “I’d hoped this was a good time. I told your Mother I was arriving early.” 

“No, no, you’re…” Taking a deep breath, Sansa wiped the white powder from her top, not seeing the streaks of sweet on her cheeks and brow. “You’re fine, Gendry. I just thought you’d be a little later, is all. I still have a few things to get ready.” Eyeing Sandor over his shoulder, “Sandor, would you keep Gendry company while I finish this?” 

“Don’t have to ask, little bird.” Tugging Gendry out of the kitchen, he blew his flustered fiancée a kiss. Blushing, she finished the buttercream. 

A quarter past two, the cake was complete in all its lemony goodness, and the house was clean as a whistle. Not a spot of dust out of place, every piece of furniture in lovely condition and ready to be smeared with frosting and snacks.

Sandor had set up plates stacked with butter crackers, salty thin biscuits perfect for dipping, thick cookies right with crumbs. Platters of Roquefort, Camembert, Brie and Gouda, sided with prosciutto, ham and spiced salami, perfect between a biscuit. Champagne chilled in the fridge, and Sansa had procured her favorite Rosé for the day. It didn’t burn similar to a red wine, and instead coated her mouth a sugary film. Sandor called it girly shite, rather favoring old-fashioned mead. He was such an old soul at times. 

“Are you ready? They could be here any minute,” Sansa repeated for the tenth time that half hour. She was pacing a hole into the floor. “Does my dress look fine? How’s my hair? Is it nice?” 

Stopping her from pacing a hole into the floor, Sandor righted his black shirt and unbuttoned pants before striding to Sansa. Hands on her hips, he stood her still, taking in the sun-kissed curls, moderate but stunning makeup, and soft blue dress that deliciously hugged her hips. “You look stunning, girl, and I’d eat you up if your father weren’t ten minutes away from barging in.” 

“Thirty,” she corrected while fingering his unbuttoned pants. “They haven’t hit the freeway yet.” Skirting around his waist, she groped a handful of his ass, fondling it between her fingers while grinning at his lustful gaze. He growled and hefted her up onto his waist, scrunching her dress while his fingers scrambled against her skin. 

“We can’t,” Sansa pointed to the closed bedroom door, “Gendry…” 

Sandor shrugged, pulling her dress up and over before tossing it on the bed with a grin. “I’ll rip his balls off if he tries a peak at you.” He chuffed at her laced bra, mouthing the fleshy pale mounds and nipping with a pleased grin. “You’re mine, little bird.” 

She hastily decided to give fuck all about her family—it was _her_ name day, for Seven’s sake.

Peeking once more at the locked door, she threw her head back against the wall, moaning, “Yours.” He took that as a plea to fall to his knees before her pale belly, mouthing the warm, soft flesh whilst his hands roamed her thighs. The days spent between them were on the top of the list. Any man would pay good money to see Sansa Stark like this, but only Sandor would ever have that pleasure. 

Underneath his nose was a small blue bow, lining her panties, and he grinned up the expanse of her body, finding those wide blue Tully eyes staring back, cheeks flushed and rosy. Her thighs were quivering with need as Sandor remained on his knees, and she held back a moan as he took the front of them between his teeth and began to tug. They were pulled down to her knees, and then all the way to her small feet, pooled on the floor. 

“Pretty little bird,” Sandor hummed. He leaned forward, nosing the thatch of red trimmed hair. _Carpet matches the drapes,_ he mused in his mind while breathing in her floral aroma. “Pretty little _cunt.”_

Lightly slapping his head, she pushed his face closer to her bare center, “Sandor, please.” She begged lightly, not wanting Gendry to hear. But Sandor muttered, “What do you want? Tell me.” 

“I…” she gulped, eyeing the burgundy door while nearly humping his face. “You know what I want.” 

“And what is that, little bird,” he nosed her left thigh, parting them slowly and putting one over his shoulder, exposing her to him. Already, there was a sheen of wetness coating her pink lips, and her exposed clit thrummed in need. It wanted Sandor’s tongue, desperately.

As if reading her thoughts, he leaned forward and flicked her bud, her sweet juices exploding on his tongue. “Is this it?” Again, he flicked the small bud. “Use your words, girl.” 

Thumping her head against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut. “Yes,” she moaned, “Please, Sandor, _please.”_ Her gut clenched as he gave relief to her clit, lightly flicking it back and forth with his tongue. It only lasted for a few seconds; he pulled back with a satisfied smirk, her wetness on his lips. 

“Do you want me to eat your pretty little cunt?” Sandor growled up at her, enjoying the shake in her thighs. “Tell me to eat your pretty cunt, little bird, or I’ll leave right now.” 

Uncaring of anything but her own pleasure, she whined a high pitched “You can’t leave me like this, I’ll die.” 

“Oh, I doubt that.” Sandor chuckled against her pubic bone, taking pleasure in lapping at her flushed skin. “Say it, Sansa, say I should eat your pretty cunt.” 

“I…” 

Pecking at her red thatch, he groaned, “Say it!” 

“ _Eat my pretty cunt_ , _please_!” Yelping, Sansa moaned high and low as Sandor feasted on her wet cunt. Sucking down her juices, lapping at her cunt walls, and nibbling on the little beady clit.

Mind you, he did suckle on it like a babe would their mother’s milk, loving her yelps of pleasure, as well as the feel of her hands tugging his hair. Such a precious girl, his Sansa, so sweet and open, with a pretty, pretty cunt just for him. His cock was already hard in his jeans, but the taste of her sweetness made it unbearable. “Sandor…” 

Feeling her impending high, he stuck his tongue as deep as it could go, nose in her clit while she cried into the air. Wetness gushed down onto his face, soaking his light stubble and sinking into the creases of his burns. It was paid little mind as she shook underneath his fingers. Her body collapsed against the wall, and he took ease in moving her to lie across the floor. Red hair splayed out like a halo. 

Noting her still covered tits, which should be considered a crime, he maneuvered it off. Trying not to groan aloud at the sight of her stunning bared breasts, he quickly gave each one a quick nip while grinning into her lusty blue eyes. Standing, Sandor made quick work of his clothes and kneeled at her splayed legs, easily moving them to rest up on either side of his thighs.

“You're still in there, right little bird?” he asked, slowly rubbing his painfully hard cock. “Haven’t had my fill of you, not by a long shot.” 

She moaned and bared her neck, a sly smile crossing her face while he rubbed the head of his cock at her cunt. “How much… time...do we have?” 

He didn’t care to look at the clock, “Enough to fuck your brains out.” Sliding inside her sopping wet cunt, Sandor clutched her waist close, relishing in her soft heat. A warm blanket around his cock, that’s what she was. So soft and tight, all at the same time. _And mine_ , he wanted to scream from the Wall for all to hear. That this warm cunt and the body it belonged to were his. 

Normally, his thrusts were steady and smooth, trying to find that spot to make Sansa whimper and thrash, but she’d already had her fill, so his thrusts were fast and unsteady. Filling her with every jut of his hips, his hands squeezed any ounce of flesh within reach. Not faltering for a moment, Sandor leaned forward to take one sweat-covered tit in his mouth, nibbling and biting her warm flesh. She was the best meal any man could ask for. 

Feeling his balls start to tighten, he changed their position, sitting up and pulling her to rest against his chest, her body bobbing with his urgent thrusts. Her nails scrambled against his shoulder, feeling her pussy walls shudder around his pounding cock. Her body was already tired from the way his tongue had eaten her alive, but the thrusts felt so right. Each one hit that spot that had her seeing stars over and over, and her climax was within reach.

Feeling her walls start to tight, he fucked into her so hard it almost hurt, bottoming out and spilling his seed deep inside her weeping cunt. He felt her wetness covering his thighs, but still held her close against his chest, rubbing her heated back. While fucking his little bird was always ideal, it was after the fucking that warmed his heart. A sleepy princess, wanting to be cuddled and kissed by her ugly as fuck beast. 

They were disgustingly adorable. 

Two knocks at the door had Sansa clenching around his cock, which had him fiercely shuddering. He ground out a, “Fuck off” to whomever the fuck it was. Sansa was more important than Gendry, no doubt. Unless he’d slipped and dropped his girls prized cake, he was fuck all-important. 

“Uhm…” Gendry sounded nervous beyond the door. “Your family arrived ten minutes ago. They’re in the living room with the TV on full blast.” Sandor could practically see him sweating in panic. “I’ve been knocking for ten minutes.” 

Sansa groaned against his neck, and he chuckled, kissing her hair-covered crown. _His sleepy little bird_. 

“We’ll be out in fifteen, Waters. Keep them busy until then.” Straining to stand with her still in his arms, he made for their shared bathroom. However, he did glower at the shut bedroom door, “Speak to anyone about this, and I’ll rip your arms off and make you eat them.” 

The sound of scurrying footsteps was enough for him. Gingerly setting her on the counter, he pulled out of her and grinned at the white mess slipping out of her cunt. Where it any other time, he’d have stuffed it back in. But seeing as the Stark brigade were just in the other room, he wiped it away with a near towel, being gentle with her abused lips. 

“Sandor?” she hummed. Sitting up and looking in his eyes, her hand coming up to rest on his scars, she smiled. “I love you, Sandor Clegane. So much.” 

“Aye, little bird, you have my heart as well.” Rubbing his cheek into her hand, he muttered, “Happy name day, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> All I want for my birthday is to be fucked like tHIS. But alas, covid has ruined my plans.


End file.
